°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･song: dumb girl-alessi rose

Will Griffin is a physical creature—you knew that well before you started practice-dating him.

You've seen the articles: the ones chock-full of pictures of Will with his rare flings, arms around waists, chins over shoulders; the occasional palming of an ass.

You just didn't think he'd be so tactile with someone he was only dating for 'learning purposes'.

Will only goes out with you when he gives you his practice dates, but you've been hanging out around town—as friends—more often than not recently. You bring out his soft side; he makes you feel confident.

Tonight is one of the dates, though.

Will's taken you to a nice restaurant just outside of town to help you work on small-talk. He showed up wearing a pair of black jeans and a dark gray button-down, his hair precariously mussed, like the date was important to him—or he just looks like that.

All night, Will was sliding his foot up and down the length of your calf, occasionally tapping the back of your hand with his fingers atop the table.

Afterwards, he takes you home.

"Nice place," Will says as he sidles into the living room behind you, hands sliding up and down your biceps. "Do I get to stay?"